Raven's Eye View
by Amican
Summary: Gryffindors are reckless. Ravenclaws are curious. The combination is dangerous. A story about Hogwarts as seen by Ravenclaw.
1. First Night

Disclaimer: The setting for this story and most of the characters other than Richard, Tom, and Sophia, have been borrowed without permission from J.K. Rowling. Of course, everything at FFN is borrowed from somewhere, so if this bothers you then you might want to leave the site.

If I borrow from anyone else in later chapters (and I do intend to), I'll let you know as it comes up. Enjoy!

* * *

"Hey Runt, what're you doing here?" an amiable voice interrupted Richard Davitt's reading. "You can't seriously be my age and that short, can you?" Putting down his book, Richard glanced up to see a tall, familiar red-head.

"I should be the one asking what you're doing here," Richard responded. "Don't tell me they actually let you into Hogwarts. I know you've got the blood and the magic, but there has to be _some_ minimum intelligence requirement." The two boys glared at each other for a long moment, then burst out laughing. They made an odd pair: Richard was short, scrawny, and withdrawn, while his friend was tall enough to look at least a year older, already developing an athlete's build, and utterly extroverted. "How are you, Tom?" Richard asked, standing to join the crowd.

"A little nervous," he responded. "You?"

"It's not as bad for me, I'm just moving across the lake. And, of course, I'm a bit better prepared for classes than you are."

"Oh, give it a rest Runt. You're better prepared for class than anyone." Tom waved a hand, taking in the other students getting off the train at Hogsmeade station. "Probably including the seventh years." Richard, antisocial as he was, had decided to wait at the station rather than have his parents bring him to King's Station like most of the Hogsmeade children. He and two older students had passed a pleasant half-hour ignoring each other while they read until the Hogwarts Express arrived.

Richard's response was interrupted by a loud voice calling, "Firs' years!" His jaw dropped when he saw the voice's owner – the man was at least twice the height of any of the students and three times as wide, with a thick black beard. "Firs' years this way!"

The huge man (who identified himself as Rubeus Hagrid, keeper of grounds and keys) led them to a fleet of small boats, one of which Richard and Tom claimed for themselves. "Did you see the size of that man?" Tom whispered. "How did he get so big?"

"Either a potion gone wrong, an engorgement charm – accidental or intentional; there must be some advantages to being that size – or else he's part giant," Richard rattled off the possibilities. "I'd need to know more to guess which."

"What, you mean you don't know everything?" Tom asked in mock-surprise.

"I'm working on it. We're just now starting Hogwarts, you know, it would have been quite rude to show up already knowing more than the professors." Richard was joking. Mostly.

Soon enough, the boat landed on the far side of the lake, where Hagrid led them to the entrance hall; the door opened to reveal an older woman, familiar to Richard but not to most of the others, already waiting.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," she said. "I am Deputy Headmistress McGonagall. We will be joining the older students for a banquet shortly, but first you will be Sorted into one of four houses: Hufflepuff, Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Your house will be your family at Hogwarts. You will live together, eat together, attend classes together, and even spend much of your free time in your house common room. When you do well, points will be awarded to your house; conversely, any rule-breaking or trouble-making will cost points to your house, which will not be appreciated by your peers. At the end of the year, The house with the most points will win the House Cup. Any questions?" After a moment, when no one volunteered any, she led them into the Great Hall.

Most of the students were staring at the ceiling, which looked like a starry night with lights dangling from nowhere; Richard looked instead to the staff table. Headmaster Dumbledore, an old man with a long white beard, sat in the middle, with Deputy Headmistress McGonagall at his right; despite being head of Gryffindor, she was a friend of the family, good friends with both his mother and aunt; the aunt being a librarian he had best begin thinking of as Madame Pince, sat next to McGonagall. His aunt's other close friend, the arithmancy teacher Professor Vector, sat on the other side. The only other faces he recognized was Hagrid, the giant who had met them at Hogsmeade, and the head of Ravenclaw, Professor Flitwick; by a comic twist, the tiny Flitwick and massive Hagrid were next to each other. Richard was trying to deduce who the others were when his thoughts were broken by applause from around him and he realized he'd missed the Sorting Song while studying the faculty. He redirected his attention to the sorting hat sitting center stage as it began to call out names, starting with "Ackerly, Stewart."

It reached "Davitt, Richard" very quickly; the half-dozen or so students before him had ranged from a few seconds to over a minute and a half in their sortings, and most of those waiting were probably surprised when the hat barely touched his head before shouting "RAVENCLAW!"

Richard himself was hardly surprised – there had never been any doubt. He went and joined his new house-mates at Ravenclaw's table, watching attentively until his friend's name – "Prewett, Thomas" – was called. The hat took no longer deciding to put Tom in Gryffindor than it had putting Richard in Ravenclaw, and it wasn't any more surprising. Thomas' family was noted for their courage far more than their ambition, intelligence, or work ethic; some uncharitable observers felt this was why they were among the poorer of the pureblood families.

When Tom had been sorted, Richard turned his attention back to his year-mates, who were, in true Ravenclaw fashion, discussing their most prized possessions: books.

"Davitt," Ackerly, who had also wound up in Ravenclaw, pulled him into the discussion, "are you any relation to Mrs. Davitt who works at Bagshott's books?"

"That's my mother," Richard said proudly. "Bagshott was her maiden name."

That got him the attention of his room-mates. "Do you think we could get a discount rate?" asked Lee Bradley.

"I'd have to ask her about that. But I have plenty of books beyond the required ones. I assume I'm not the only one?" The other four boys laughed; they were, after all, Ravenclaw. "Then why don't we set up shelves in the room," Richard continued, "and we can see what we all have; that ought to get us through at least until Christmas, and then you can all come and look around the store before going home. Sound good?"

"First-rate," said Ackerly, and the others agreed, turning toward the older students to ask about the shelves.

"This is Ravenclaw," a third-year answered. "There are already bookshelves in your room, one for each of you and another one already stocked with books provided by the house."

"Excellent," Richard said with a grin. "Mom told me I was going to love it here." Before anyone could answer, a chorus of groans called their attention back to Dumbledore.

"What'd he say?" asked Bradley.

"No Quidditch," hissed back one of the older girls furiously. Holding up hands for silence, Dumbledore continued, explaining that they would instead be reinstating the Tri-wizard Tournament. Along the other three tables, whispered comments indicated the better-read students explaining what it was to the others; at Ravenclaw, anyone who didn't know would rather look it up later than admit ignorance in the face of their classmates' shock.

"Are they insane?" Richard muttered. "Quidditch is dangerous enough, but the Tournament?"

"My grandfather warned me," said Bradley. "When he went through, Dumbledore was head of Gryffindor. 'You never know what kind of trouble the school will get into when you put a lion in charge of the zoo,' he said."

"I'd have thought Dumbledore was smart enough to be Ravenclaw," Richard objected. His mother and aunt both spoke highly of him, McGonagall seemed to see him as a role model, and even Professor Vector said Dumbledore knew as much as she did about Arithmancy.

"Is that supposed to make it better?" asked Bradley. "Smart enough to be in Ravenclaw, how reckless must he be to have been Gryffindor instead?"

"Perhaps he's mellowed as he aged?" suggested Ackerly hopefully.

"Of course," Bradley answered, rolling his eyes. "That would explain the tournament being back, wouldn't it?"

That seemed to settle the matter – they were doomed – but at that point, the speech was over, the food arrived, and they all had more immediate concerns than which of the older students would find their life in jeopardy for the glory of the school.

* * *

In the early days of Hogwarts, the Gryffindors' courage had driven them to obsession with battle; in these more peaceful times, the first years entering the Gryffindor common room had turned to the activity most closely approximating the dangers of war: Quidditch.

"Oh, be serious," Tom laughed at a comment from one of the other first years. "Perhaps the Cannons could pull off that sort of teamwork, but the national teams don't play together long enough. At the World Cup, it's all about individual skill."

"Wouldn't know much about that, would you?" asked one of the other boys, a Michael Foster. "I head about your little accident last month."

"Like to see you try what we do," answered Tom. "Probably wimp out before you came anywhere close."

"Want to try it?" the other boy snapped.

"What?"

"You. Me. Right now. First to back off loses."

"You're on," Tom agreed. "Fred, George!" he called to his cousins, who were whispering in a corner. "I need your broom."

"Right that way," George answered. "Not like we're using them with no quidditch." Tom went to the door George had pointed at, found his cousins' brooms, and came back; he and Foster were just leaping together out of the window when George realized his mistake.

"Don't you dare!" he bellowed, a moment too late.

Davitt, Tom knew, could have calculated to the second how long it would take to reach the bottom of Gryffindor tower, and to the meter-per-second (if not centimeter) how fast they would be going when they got there; he would also have made an estimate of how much damage would be done if you landed improperly, and, being Ravenclaw, concluded that it was insane to leap out of a building and see how close to the ground you could get before pulling up.

Tom, of course, was Gryffindor.

The other boy glared at him as they fell, turning greener the faster the went. When they passed the top of the trees growing at the base of the tower, his nerve broke and he pulled up. Tom, practiced and now relaxed with the competition won, came to a stop, hovering, no more than two feet off the ground.

His pleasure was abruptly ended by a furious voice shouting, "Prewett!"

Feeling his stomach drop, he turned to find himself face-to-face with McGonagall.

* * *

On the far side of the castle, a group of less courageous but more intelligent students were enjoying a safer and quieter first night at Hogwarts. "Queen to king's bishop six. Check and mate." Sophia Stebbens smiled as Ackerly stood and moved aside. "That leaves you and me, Davitt." She began resetting her pieces as Richard sat across from her and did the same. "White or black?" she asked.

"Your choice," answered Richard politely. "Though I'll take white if you don't care."

"All yours."

Only in Ravenclaw would a group of eleven-year-olds spend their first night away from home in a chess tournament. Richard and Sophia were now the last two undefeated, and the other eight gathered around to watch.

Sophia, much to Richard's surprise, began by moving her pawns out in staggered lines, defending each other and providing a shield for her stronger pieces. Richard preferred to move his stronger pieces out as quickly as possible, and rapidly set them up to defend one another. With the opening complete, Sophia proceeded to march down the right side of the board, clearing it off in short order and winding up slightly ahead in the bargain; Richard slid a bishop and knight past her pawns on the other side, taking her castle and evening things up. In an inattentive moment, he let Sophia force him into trading queens, but then used his remaining pieces to clear her pawns while she did the same to his. Two profitable trade-offs later, the board was clear except for his king and a bishop and her king. Unfortunately, she managed to maneuver her king to the middle, and he could not force her into mate.

"Call it a draw?" she suggested.

"I suppose," he sighed. "Try again?"

"Definitely. Can we trade colors?"

"Certainly."

They opened the same way, but Sophia made a more focused middlegame, focusing on reaching his king rather than killing his pieces; her defenses were well-set, but her focus too narrow, and Richard was able to force her to stalemate two turns before she would have beaten him.

"One more," Stebbens insisted, and he didn't argue. This time he tried her opening, which led to a rapid tradeoff that killed most of the pawns. The more powerful pieces came out quickly, and in a quick series of trades they found themselves with only kings and opposite colored bishops. Richard stared at the board for a moment, calculating moves. "Not a chance. Unless one of us does something stupid we'll wind up in an infinite loop. Shall we try again?"

Four games later, Richard finally had it: her king was held in the corner by a rook, the rook guarded by a bishop, and his knight on its way to check the King. "I've got you this time," he noted.

"Queen's rook pawn to queen's rook eight," Stebbens answered. "Queen it." Her pawn slid forward a space and shifted to become a queen, which now threatened both his king and bishop.

"Well. That was stupid of me." He moved his king, sacrificing the bishop. He took the queen immediately after, but with the bishop gone her king could kill the castle, and now her king was out of the corner and he had only a knight left, with his own king across the board. "One more?" he asked, smiling.

"Another time, perhaps," she answered. "At this point if either of us wins the loser can chalk it up to sleep deprivation, and I'll not have my victory tainted." A slight smile indicated that the arrogance behind her assumption was a joke, or at least that she was passing it off as such. For his part, Richard was more than willing to call it a night; their classmates were long since asleep, and if he hadn't realized that her only remaining move gave her a Queen and put him in check he was clearly already too tired. "Good playing, Stebbens. See you tomorrow."

"Not bad yourself, Davitt. See you in," she glanced at the clock, "about four hours. Let's start earlier next time we do this."


	2. Odd Views of Gryffindor

Disclaimer: Hogwarts, its faculty, and most of its students (excepting the ones I made up) do not belong to me; if they did, this wouldn't be fanfiction.

* * *

Richard woke late the next morning to find his roommates already out; getting ready as quickly as possible still left him arriving at Ravenclaw's table after a number of people had left. Sophia had just been sitting down when he entered the hall, and he took a seat across from her. "Care for a quick game?" she asked with a slight smile, motioning at a chessboard another student had left.

"Sure," Richard agreed, glancing at the opening set-up. "I have you checkmated in 67 moves," he added, deadpan. "Try again?"

"Sure," she answered, equally calm. "Switch colors?"

"Alright," he agreed.

"I win in 43 moves. You should really watch your castles better than that."

Smirking, Richard began eating.

"Enjoy yourselves while you can," Ackerly advised. "We have flying with Gryffindor later this morning."

"Oh dear. Well, at least we have Charms and DADA with Hufflepuff," offered Richard in what he hoped was a reassuring voice.

"Yes," sighed Sophia, "But Potions with Slytherin."

"What's so bad about that?" Richard asked. "Charms, DADA and flying are the more dangerous classes, aren't they?"

Sophia, along with several of the others, gave him a look that Ravenclaws normally reserve for Gryffindors. "You're the oldest in your family, aren't you?" Sophia asked after a moment.

"Only, actually," Richard admitted. "What have your older siblings told you about potions?"

"Heard of Professor Snape?"

"Yeah, my mom was in school with him. Said he was smart enough to be Ravenclaw but in trouble enough to be Gryffindor. Reading between the lines, she didn't seem to like him much – though certainly more than she did that Gryffindor they had teaching DADA last year – and she told me not to get on his bad side because he can be quite harsh on anyone outside Slytherin."

"Did she mention what he teaches?"

It didn't take a Ravenclaw to figure out what that meant. "Potions, I take it?"

"You got it."

"And he's terribly biased, so the Slytherins can get away with anything?" Richard guessed.

"Right again."

Richard sighed. "Well, that's not until tomorrow. I'll make sure to double-check my shielding charms tonight." He glanced at the clock, and sighed again. "Well, at least the first thing we have with them is Transfiguration. McGonagall should keep them under control if anyone can." He and his classmates headed out to their first class.

* * *

Upon walking in, Richard spotted a familiar cat sitting on McGonagall's desk; the students already in their seats were talking freely, and he smirked broadly as he took a seat in the back, waiting to see everyone's reactions.

When the last student had entered class, the cat leapt off the table, becoming the Deputy Headmistress by the time it landed. There was instant silence, save for gasps from several students; muggleborn Sean Lochrin, sitting next to Richard, almost fell out of his seat.

"Good morning," the professor said. "And welcome to Transfigurations." Without wasting any more time, she called roll and began class.

Richard listened as McGonagall gave the simplest explanation of Transfiguration theory and the methodology for simple changes, jotting down the few things he hadn't previously known; his classmates, especially the other Ravenclaws, were taking far more copious notes. "Mr. Davitt," she called as she finished, "could you pass these out for me?" she gestured to a box on her desk.

"Of course, Professor," he answered, rising to take the box.

"I noticed you only noted my additions," she murmured as he picked it up. "Already read the book?"

"Yes, Ma'am," he answered. "You know my family." He'd been eight when he read the book, actually, but there was nothing to be accomplished by bringing that up.

"Mr. Davitt is handing out porcupine quills," McGonagall explained to the class. "Your first transfiguration assignment will be to change them to quill pens."

The class went fairly well; after finishing his own, Richard helped out a few of his classmates, and then collected the quills at the end, sorting those that had been returned to normal porcupine quills (or which had never changed) from those that had been stuck after something went wrong.

"That wasn't too bad," Bradley commented as they headed out.

"No, but we have flying next," Richard answered. "Keep your heads down, one of my best friends is a first year Gryffindor, and even if the others are all practically Hufflepuffs he'll be dangerous enough alone."

* * *

The other Gryffindors were not practically Hufflepuffs. One of them, Michael Foster, seemed determined to out-Gryffindor Tom, spinning around and showing off whenever the teacher, Madame Hooch, wasn't looking. He nearly knocked Lochrin over three times before Tom began mimicking him, matching whatever he did with flourishes that Foster couldn't follow.

Ten minutes into it, Madame Hooch had already warned them both. "Prewett! Foster! 10 points from Gryffindor for foolish waste of class time. Hold the brooms steady, please, while I help Creevey." One of the other Gryffindors, terribly excitable, had been having a good deal of trouble keeping his broom under control.

Richard was glad to see it, actually; he would otherwise have been the worst in the class, needing all his concentration to keep the broom from shifting under him.

"All right," Hooch continued after a moment. "We all seem to have the basic idea. Follow me up, but stay in a circle." Rising up on her own broom, she hovered perhaps three meters off the ground – not terribly high, by Quidditch standards, but enough to hurt if anyone fell. "Good. Pair off and fly a couple laps around the pitch. Foster, you're with Creevey, Prewett with Davitt, Quirk with Stebbens, Ackerly with Flynn. . ." she continued around the class, and Richard realized after a moment she was pairing weak and strong fliers, not necessarily in direct order but in pairs that could work together; the first ten minutes had taught her not to put Foster with anyone outside his house.

"You okay, Runt?" Tom asked as they started around.

"I'm managing, just don't push the speed too much," Richard answered, focused on flying as straight as he could.

"Got it, Runt. Nice and easy."

"That the best you can do, Prewett?" demanded Foster as he flew past.

Tom started to answer, but got only far enough to open his mouth before dropping the subject to shout, "Watch your partner!" Unattended, Creevey had started to slide off the broom; Foster fell back again to catch him, glaring at Tom's back as he did so.

"Ignore him," Tom murmured. "He's just upset about last night."

"Even you, Oaf, cannot possibly be so dumb as to have picked a fight with one of your roommates before classes even started."

"Hardly my fault. He just made a challenge, lost, and didn't take it well." Michael's family, Richard realized, was one of those that looked down on the Prewetts for having less money; unlike most of that sort, the Fosters had not fallen consistently into any particular house.

"What sort of challenge?" he asked, carefully avoiding the class issue.

"Oh, he'd heard about the accident last month and thought he could do better."

Richard's broom bucked under him as he lost concentration; Tom quickly helped him balance, and when he had focused enough to bring the broom back under control, the Ravenclaw said, "Do you mean to tell me that less than a month after breaking your leg and your brother's broom, you decided that not only were you going to continue jumping off buildings but that you should try _Gryffindor tower?_"

"Well, I made it fine. Beat him, fair and square."

"If McGonagall ever finds out, you are dead." Tom took a moment too long to either answer or meet Richard's eyes. "Oh, no. She saw you, didn't she?"

"She was right at the bottom when I stopped."

"How bad was it?"

* * *

_"Mr. Prewett, do you have any idea the sort of danger you were in?" Professor McGonagall had fumed. "You could have died! What were you thinking?"_

_"Um. . ." she clearly hadn't seen Foster, and Tom was not about to lose any extra points to Gryffindor by including a second student. "One of my classmates challenged my flying, and I picked what was probably a dumb way to prove him wrong."_

_"I should certainly say so!" snapped his head of house. "If you had taken another half-second to stop you could have cracked your neck. I have faced enough comments from my colleagues on our house's lack of common sense because of _necessary_ risks that my students have taken these last few years, I most certainly do not need to see them proved right in such a pointless and idiotic manner. Twenty points from Gryffindor – which will have to be retroactive tomorrow, since we haven't had time to win any yet – for sheer stupidity and pride."_

_"Yes, Professor."_

_"And you will be serving detention with me tomorrow night."_

_"Yes, Professor."_

_"And, Mr. Prewett, do not for a moment imagine that Madame Hooch will not have heard about this by tomorrow morning, or that your parents will not know tonight. Now get back to the common room and find some less suicidal way to spend your first night."_

* * *

"Ouch," Richard grimaced, recognizing the Deputy Headmistress' tone from his own run in (honestly, you'd think the Restricted Section was Gringotts, the way she carried on). "Well, I can't say you didn't deserve it. Come to think of it, add in Madame Hooch this morning and Gryffindor is already negative thirty."

"Don't remind me," Tom sighed.

"Hear from your mother yet?"

Tom glanced over in surprise. "You didn't hear the howler? How late were you to breakfast this morning?"

"Very," Richard admitted. "Stebbens and I were up until three

"_Sophia_ Stebbens?" Tom emphasized the girl's name. "What were you two doing?"

"Playing chess," answered Richard, giving his friend a disgusted look. "What do you take us for, a pair of idiot Gryffindors?"

"I thought you liked Gryffindors," Tom complained.

"No. Emphatically not. I like you, and your parents, and maybe your aunt Molly. I have a good deal of respect for McGonagall. That makes five of you I can deal with out of the quarter of Wizarding Britain that went through your house." Tom found himself more than a little put off; he had always thought Richard immune to the ties between Slytherin and Ravenclaw, but his friend was clearly not on Gryffindor's side.

"Well, looks like it's time to head in," he pointed out, gesturing to where the other students were returning the school brooms.

"I'm heading to the library," Richard said. "Should have time to get a start on my Transfiguration homework before lunch. Want to come?"

Quite aside from his confusion after that last comment, Tom had no intention of spending his first free hour of the day doing homework in the library. "Thanks, but no. I'm going back to Gryffindor tower. See you at lunch, Runt."

Going back to Gryffindor tower turned out to be a mistake: Foster was waiting for him in the otherwise empty common room. "Look, Prewett," the other boy growled. "It was obnoxious enough of you to try and show me up last night, class today was over the line."

"What do you mean _try_ to show you up? And if you don't like it stop trying to beat me at flying. Now if you'll excuse me," _I have to be going_, he would have said.

"I won't." Foster cut him off. "You ought to know your place, Prewett."

"My place is Gryffindor. You're the one acting like a Slytherin." In Tom's family, that was a dangerous insult.

Foster apparently didn't feel the same. "I might wish I had been, if this is what Gryffindor's come to. I can respect a half-blood like Potter or even a Muggleborn like Granger, if they have some talent, but if you and Creevey can qualify perhaps the House isn't what it used to be."

Tom laughed. "What've you got that I haven't? I beat you last night, I was better than you in flying, and I didn't see you do anything great in potions."

"I have class, not that I expect you to understand that. You might be able to learn enough that my father would hire you as a cook, if we didn't have house-elves to do it better, but no more."

"Foster, I've met your father." He'd been with his mother at work when the rich jerk had come in, and only Malfoy had ever been less pleasant. "I'd rather hang out with the house-elves."

"You would, Prewett. They don't even own clothes, they must be almost as poor as you."

Both boys would later claim the other one threw the first punch.


	3. Fighting and Fainting

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and anything else you recognize from Rowling's books belong to – guess who? – J.K. Rowling.

Hannah Korvil, along with the other Hufflepuffs in this year and the idea of Mages, belongs to Quilynn, whose story _Hannah's Hufflepuff Concerto_ is well worth reading.

The question of Flitwick's parentage, while probably not significant to this story, was borrowed from Alchemine.

* * *

While Tom was running off to Gryffindor tower, Richard caught up with the other Ravenclaws heading to lunch. "Which of those idiots was your friend, Davitt?" Lochrin asked Richard as he joined them. "Please tell me it wasn't Foster."

"No," Richard answered, "Prewett. He and Foster don't seem to get along well."

"No surprise there," said their roommate Nick Finn. "The Foster family is very close-knit; they have to be, because no one else will spend time with them. His parents are permanently banned from my uncle's restaurant in Diagon Alley because of the trouble they caused last year, and I hear he was one of the last to kick them out."

"Aren't social rejects usually less arrogant than that?" muttered Stebbens as they reached their table in the Great Hall.

"Sometimes," said Richard with a shrug. "Unless they're rejected because they look down at everyone."

"We get a fair number of those here," offered an older student whose name Richard hadn't caught. "Ravenclaws who look down at everyone else for being less intelligent than us and wind up being more disliked than Slytherins."

"Yes, but we are smarter than everyone else," pointed out Stebbens, half-joking.

"Of course," agreed Richard, less than half-joking. "But less intelligent doesn't mean worthless. Tom Prewett is a frightful oaf sometimes, but he's still my best friend."

"Good man," said the older student, before turning back to his friends.

"In the Fosters' case," added Finn, "It's because they're one of the oldest pureblood families – there's a story in _Hogwarts: A History_ about how in the 1200s, a Foster head of Slytherin tried to overrule the Sorting Hat and refuse to let a muggleborn named Hugo Malfoy into his house.

"Doesn't hurt that they're rich, too; Uncle Merc would have kicked them out of the restaurant much sooner if they didn't always buy the most expensive things on the menu."

"Come to think of it," Stebbens said, glancing over at Gryffindor's table, "Where is Foster?"

Richard, following her gaze, saw that there were fewer Gryffindor first years at the table than had been in flying – there was Creevey, and most of the others. . . but no sign of Foster or Tom.

"Prewett's missing too," he pointed out. "That can't be good. I'll be right back, someone has to tell their Prefect and the rest of their house is probably too dense to think of it."

"What about Granger?" challenged Finn. "There's one full brain in Gryffindor."

Richard, along with the others, nodded at that. "True enough – two if you count McGonagall – but does a fourth year notice a couple of first years missing on their first day?"

As he headed over, however, he noticed that the second full brain in the house _had_ noticed; McGonagall was talking to the Gryffindor prefects as Richard arrived.

"Yes, Mr. Davitt?" she asked him as he approached.

"Ah, actually I was going to talk to the prefects, Professor," he said.

"I see. If it has to do with the absence of your friend Mr. Prewett and both Foster brothers, I was just sending Mr. Hooper to check on them."

"Thank you, Professor," he answered, feeling much better as he returned to his seat. Tom might be living in a house of fools, but at least there was someone with sense keeping a sharp eye on them.

* * *

Tom had no trouble for the first few moments of the fight; he was used to wrestling with his brothers and cousins, and had the vague impression that Foster was more accustomed to magical or verbal fighting. After trading a punch or two with the rich brat, Tom quickly switched tactics and pinned him to the floor, catching one arm with his knee and the other with his left hand, leaving his right free to hold Foster's throat.

"Now listen, Foster, I've had enough of this garbage," Tom began, but never made it any farther.

Foster's brother had entered the room, seen Tom pinning Michael, and jumped in.

Derek Foster wasn't that much better a fighter than his brother, but he was a third year; the size difference between eleven and thirteen gave him enough of an advantage to easily match Tom's experience, and things suddenly became much more interesting. Tom almost managed to get Derek pinned, but then Michael was back into it, and in the time it took Tom to hit the younger Foster square in the face, the older one was tackling him again; he barely got out of the hold, and managed to get a few good punches in before Derek half-shoved, half-threw him into the wall.

By the time the prefect came to check on them, all three boys were lying on the floor, too exhausted and beaten to fight anymore – though if asked, Tom would have said he was just giving his opponents a chance to rest.

"What in Merlin's name is going on here?" demanded the prefect, whom Tom vaguely remembered was named Hooper.

Tom glanced at the others, saw that they weren't answering, and volunteered, "Michael and I had a bit of a disagreement. When we got started shoving each other we fell down the stairs, and Derek got pulled along when he tried to catch us."

Hooper gave them a very skeptical look, but didn't challenge the lie. Instead, he tossed some Floo Powder into the fireplace, stepped through, and returned moments later with ointment and three small vials of potion.

"Here, the potion's for pain and the ointment's for bruises. Mike, stop at the hospital wing and have Madame Pomfrey do something about your nose – I'm pretty sure it's broken.

"And all three of you be careful, the next time you fall down a flight of stairs I'll take you straight to the hospital wing myself and we'll see if you can explain to Madame Pomfrey how you managed to get so much damage to the face and so little to your arms." With that, he walked out.

"You throw a good punch, Prewett," Derek admitted as they applied the ointment, "for a first year from a nothing family, that is." The older boy flashed a smile at odds with his words.

"You two aren't half bad yourselves, for a pair of spoiled aristocrats," Tom answered with a smile of his own. The Fosters would never be his friends, but he imagined they wouldn't be picking any more fights with him. And if word spread about this, it seemed likely that no one else would either.

* * *

After lunch, Richard and his classmates headed to what looked to be one of their better classes: charms, taught by their head of house and taken with Hufflepuff. Professor Flitwick was already waiting, standing on a stool so that he could see over the desks to keep an eye on his students. The head of Ravenclaw was no more than four feet tall, and as Richard sat down he idly wondered if the professor was simply a midget, the victim of some sort of shrinking magic gone wrong, or perhaps (not to be suggested aloud, nor even thought too loudly) part house-elf.

Just before the class began, the last two students – a pair of Hufflepuff girls – came running in. Richard didn't recognize either of them, but one was wearing a tiara that seemed vaguely familiar. He couldn't figure out why until Professor Flitwick called roll, and midway through said, "Korvil, Hannah;" the name brought his head around even before the girl with the tiara answered.

_A Korvil at Hogwarts? They're mages!_ Not just any mages, he realized after a moment, but one of the leading families; her father, headmaster of a Mage Academy, might occasionally stop by Bagshott's Books, but never stayed longer than necessary. A Korvil at Hogwarts was like a Malfoy at a muggle school; and yet she wore the tiara and came to Hogwarts, she couldn't be a squib (or whatever the mage equivalent was).

He filed it away to look into later as Flitwick finished attendance and began to lecture. "Charms is one of the core subjects which you will study at Hogwarts. In our first year, we will be studying a variety of basic spells, some helpful in everyday life, some used in particular fields, and others as a foundation for more complex work done in succeeding years.

"Now, today we will be learning a simple spell. I am passing around a box of feathers; you are each to choose one and wait for my instructions." He gestured with his wand, and the box floated over to the front row, where the students began picking feathers and passing the box back.

When everyone had a feather, Flitwick waved his wand at the one on his own desk and said, "_Wingardium Leviosa!_" Immediately, the feather floated up into the air. "Repeat after me: _Wingardium,_" he paused, and the class echoed the word, "_Leviosa._" The class repeated the second part. "Very good." He ran them through it a few more times, then demonstrated the motion and told them to practice.

Richard didn't rush into it himself – he had done this spell earlier, and there was no need to show that off – but glanced around to see how the rest of the class was doing. Most of the Ravenclaws seemed to be at least getting the feathers to twitch; among the few who had trouble at first were muggleborn Lochrin and, surprisingly enough, Sophia Stebbens. The Hufflepuffs were less consistent, with some doing well, some having trouble, and Korvil not even trying.

"Come on, Miss Korvil," Professor Flitwick encouraged her, "Swish and flick. _Wingardium Leviosa._" The girl made the motion, but still said nothing. Richard glanced around at the rest of the class – Stebbens and Lochrin were actually surpassing the others now – and when he looked back saw that Korvil was putting her wand away. After another moment, her eyes fluttered closed and she fell, convulsing, out of her seat.

Professor Flitwick being in charge, of course, she never reached the floor; calling out "_Wingardium Leviosa!_" with considerably more intensity than he had before, the Professor caught her in midair and lifted her above the desks. "Miss Grassick," he ordered the girl who had come in with Korvil, "run ahead to the hospital wing and tell Madame Pomfrey what happened." The girl was out the door even as Flitwick turned around, eyes scanning the room before settling on Sophia. "Miss Stebbens, please let me know if there are any problems while I am gone. Everyone continue with the spell, and those who get it fastest help the others." Pointing his wand at Korvil, he snapped "_Mobilicorpus,_" and went out with the unconscious Hufflepuff trailing behind him.


	4. Mages, Music, and Mayhem

Disclaimer: Anything recognizable from the published Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling, just like it did in the last three chapters.

Hannah Korvil, Jaci Grassik, and mages in general belong to Quilynn. If you enjoy this, you will probably like her _Hannah's Hufflepuff Concerto _as well.

The Ravenclaw students, along with Tom Prewett and Michael Foster, are mine, though if Rowling wishes to use them she is more than welcome to.

* * *

"Alright," Stebbens broke the silence that had followed Flitwick's exit. "Let's all take a moment to calm down, pray, or whatever." She paused a few seconds, then continued, "Now back to work." 

Subdued, everyone set to making the feathers float. Richard got his almost immediately, made sure Lochrin and Bradley had it worked out, and then went to check on the Hufflepuffs. He was just approaching Eleanor Branstone when the girl Flitwick had sent ahead returned.

"Glad to see we aren't letting Hannah's faint worry us," she said coldly.

"People faint. It happens," said one of the Hufflepuff boys - Cauldwell, perhaps? - calmly enough. "She'll be fine."

"I'm sure Madame Pomfrey can handle it," added Sophia. "At any rate, this is what Professor Flitwick told us to do, so we're working on it."

"If nothing else," Richard added under his breath, "keeping occupied keeps people from worrying." Eleanor heard him, and shot a look somewhere between understanding and annoyance.

Meanwhile, the girl - Miss Grassik, Professor Flitwick had called her - stalked back to her desk. "_Wingardium Leviosa!_" she snapped, giving a very quick swish-and-flick. The feather immediately leapt into the air - not a sustained hover, but a jump two feet up. Unfortunately, it also burst into flame.

Richard, only one desk back with Eleanor, cast a quick charm to put it out. "Careful," he warned Grassik. "Strong emotion or thoughts can affect your magic, even if the words and gesture are right. Take a moment to calm down and try it again."

She gave him a considerably less than calm look, and when she tried again (with a new feather) she seemed not so much calm as tightly controlled. Richard had the distinct feeling that she was not from a Hufflepuff background. More likely Slytherin, Durmstang, or a slightly dysfunctional muggle family.

By the time Flitwick got back, the entire class could at least get the feather off the desk, though they varied widely in how much control they had over it. Apparently content with that, he let them go early with instructions to practice the spell and write a brief essay on what problems they had with it and how they dealt with them.

The Hufflepuffs still seemed subdued at dinner, but the Ravenclaws mainly dropped the problem; injuries at Hogwarts were common enough, if usually with more direct and obvious causes, and Madame Pomfrey had little trouble sorting them out. Richard, personally, was just plain curious. He'd never heard of anything like that happening before, but then he'd never heard of a mage at Hogwarts either. He resolved to find everything he could on the subject.

"Anyone have any clue why that would have happened? With Korvil, that is," he added, realizing he had no idea what his year-mates had been discussing and it was all to obvious why Grassik's feather had burnt up.

"If the wand isn't well-matched to the wizard, anything can happen," opined Stebbens. "I had a cousin whose spells all came out thirty seconds late because he was using a hand-me-down."

"I've heard you can overload yourself trying to handle too much magic at once," added Bradley. "Maybe since she's a mage she can hardly hold wizard magic at all."

"Or she could've just passed out," pointed out Lochrin, rolling his eyes. "Dehydration, exhaustion, health problems. It happens all the time, you know."

"Less common in wizards," Stebbens explained, "though now that I think of it I have no idea if that's also true for mages."

"What the heck are mages, anyway?" Lochrin asked. "It just means a magic-user, doesn't it? Same thing as wizard, I'd think."

The purebloods paused, reminding themselves that a few months ago Lochrin had known nothing about magic that didn't come out of ridiculous works of fiction. "It's a different kind of magic," Richard explained after a moment. "They don't use wands or incantations, just direct mental power. They have their own school, which a Korvil is headmaster of - I'm not sure how he's related to Hannah. There are a couple different types; the most famous and dangerous are mind mages - they can poke around inside your brain, even make you think or feel things."

"Their magic doesn't interfere with muggle stuff the same way ours does," added Stebbens. "Mages have electricity in their houses, which wizards can't unless we use almost no magic at home."

"Why would we want it?" asked Bradley.

"You'd be surprised," answered Stebbens. "Muggles manage some amazing things without magic. You'd think we could at least borrow the printing press and typewriters." She glanced around, seeing that most of her year-mates had no idea what she meant, and waved the subject away. "Never mind. But you guys really need to get out more."

"You have no idea," Lochrin told her. "I was telling Finn about playing synth, and not only had he not heard of either synthesizers or electric keyboards, he didn't even know what electricity was." Stebbens bit her lip, trying not to laugh; Richard exchanged a glance with Bradley, confirming that he, too, had no idea what a synthesizer was.

"Wait," Stebbens said, "you play synth? How well?"

"I got into Ravenclaw, didn't I?" answered Lochrin with smirk.

"Come on, then," Stebbens said, dragging him off. Richard was highly confused, and suspected he was not alone. But Ravenclaws had more pride than Slytherins (and better reasons), so no one admitted it as they changed the subject.

* * *

Shortly after getting back to the common room, Richard decided that the syn-whatever Lochrin played must be a muggle version of piano; this seemed the only logical reason for Lochrin and Stebbens to appeared with Professor Flitwick, shrinking a baby grand so that it fit through door and then expanding it back (come to think of it, where had the piano come from? Surely they hadn't just transfigured a desk; well, with McGonagall and Flitwick working together one couldn't be sure). Stebbens ran into the her room, and returned momentarily with a violin; seeing the two of them, a handful of older students quickly returned to their own rooms. Within minutes, the duo had been joined by another violin, a trio of third years with hand drums, a fourth year with a trumpet, and a second year with a lute. Richard joined the others gathering around to hear. 

Of course, being Ravenclaw, a good number of them were doing homework as they listened, at least until the lutist brought out a Weird Sisters songbook; at that point, nearly everyone gave up on getting anything done in favor of singing along.

Richard did, however, make sure to check through _Forty Basic Defensive Charms _before the night was over; he had potions with Slytherins the next day.

* * *

As it happened, the potions class wasn't where he needed the spells. Either because Snape was still intimidating to the first year Slytherins, because this year's Slytherins weren't as bad as their elders, or because Ravenclaw seemed less objectionable than the alternatives, the class went by with barely a hitch. The problem came afterwards, at the top of the stairs leading out of the dungeons. 

He was just reaching the hall when his shoelaces caught, sending him face down on the floor. As the other students in the hallway laughed, he glanced down to see his shoelaces hadn't caught - between one step and the other they'd tied themselves together. "That was mature," he muttered, undoing the hex with a flick of his wand.

Glancing around, he immediately spotted a slightly older Gryffindor casting the same spell at one of the Slytherins coming up the stairs. Running briefly through the spells he'd read the night before, Richard drew his wand and pointed it at the bully.

"_Expelliarmus!_" The older student beat him to it. "You should be more careful, boy," he sneered, twirling Richard's wand in his fingers. "Ought to know better-"

"_Accio Wand!_" Richard shouted, his other wand (courtesy of Roderick's) hidden in the left sleeve of his robe. "_Expelliarmus!_" The first spell yanked his Ollivander's wand back to him, but the second, though cast with the better wand, only made the other boy's wand twitch in his hand.

"_Wingardium Leviosa!_" the Gryffindor shouted, sending the helmet from a nearby suit of armor flying at Richard.

"_Expulio!_" Richard answered; the banishing charm didn't so much deflect the helmet as slow it down enough that it hit the floor halfway to him.

"_Locomotor Mortis!_"

"_Protego!_"

The other boy's hex hit Richard's shield, broke through it, and locked his legs together, sending him sprawling; hastily, he cast a "_Finite Incantatem_" to free himself. Before he could think of what to cast next, a familiar redhead was stepping between him and the bully.

"What're you doing, Foster?" Tom demanded, sounding less hostile than he should have if this was Michael Foster's brother.

"Just goofing around, and the kid didn't take it well," answered the other boy - Foster - with a smirk. "I was just about to finish it up."

"Finish what up?" demanded a prim and beautifully familiar voice.

"Oh, hi Professor," said Tom cheerfully as the crowd of students parted to let McGonagall through. The deputy headmistress simply glanced around, seeing the circle that had formed and the three students inside it. "Mr. Prewett, Mr. Foster, and Mr. Davitt, come with me. Everyone else, get on with your day."

Silent but fuming, she led them to her office and flooed Professor Flitwick, who immediately stepped in.

"Now, would you like to tell me what precisely was going on?" she demanded.

"Davitt is an old friend of mine," Tom explained. "I'd mentioned him to Foster, said how he knows more than most third years. Foster said he wanted to see it, but I didn't think he'd be dumb enough to do it in the hall."

"You do not know Mr. Foster as well as I do, then," McGonagall said, sparing the boy a glare. "And you, Davitt, what were you thinking?"

"I. . . wasn't, professor. I was just mad that he had hexed my shoelaces together, and then I was just reacting as it went."

"'Not thinking' is a very poor showing for a Ravenclaw," said Flitwick. "Regardless of what some others may do." He cast a glance that seemed to include both Foster and Tom, and perhaps their house as a whole. "Were you hurt?"

"By him?" Richard asked in disgust. "I got knocked down, but that was all. If Tom hadn't stepped in when he did, Foster would've needed the Hospital Wing more than I did." The older boy's jaw dropped, but Tom caught his shoulder before he could be dumb enough to say anything.

Flitwick, on the other hand, seemed to be restraining a smile behind his glare. "Let me see your wand." Richard handed it over, and his head of house cast a "priori incantatem;" shadows of the spells he'd cast came out in reverse order. "Tell me, Mr. Prewett, how is it that on your second day of classes you already know these spells?"

"I have potions with Slytherin and Flying with Gryffindor. It seemed wise to be prepared." Even McGonagall's lips twitched at that.

"What do you think, Filius? Five points from each house?"

"Fair enough. I hope t his shall not become an issue again." Flitwick gave Richard a very direct look.

"Indeed," McGonagall agreed, glancing significantly at her own students. "Especially as this brings Gryffindor down to zero. Next time I would have no choice but to issue detention."


	5. Interhouse Relationships

Disclaimer: My sole contributions to the Harry Potter universe are the Lochrin, Stebbens, Davitt, Bradley, Finn, Prewett, and Foster. The Hufflepuffs – notably Korvil, Grassik, Branstone, and Madley, but also the here-unnamed boy who screams and passes out – belong to Quilynn, whose story, as I have said before, you should all read. Everything else belongs to the original often-imitated-but-never-duplicated J.K. Rowling.

* * *

"What in Merlin's name makes you think you were winning?" growled Derek Foster as the three boys left the office and headed toward the Great Hall for lunch. "In case you didn't notice, I was beating you senseless!"

"You were more powerful," Richard admitted dismissively, "but I'm smarter. It would've been my advantage in the end. And you," he added to Tom. "Did you really tell Foster about me? 'Cause I happened to notice he was hexing anything that moved."

"I'd mentioned you, but no, he'd never said anything about doing this."

Richard stopped in his tracks, turning to face Tom. "You lied. You lied to Professor McGonagall to protect this worthless bully. And I went along with it so you wouldn't look like a liar. Why?"

Tom shrugged, looking a bit surprised at how angry Richard was. "Fewer points off Gryffindor. It's not that big a deal."

"Maybe if you want to help your house you should talk the prat into not hexing first years."

"Hey," Foster cut him off, "Don't act like I'm not here. And don't act like I'm the only one getting off light. I didn't tell anyone you had a second wand."

"A what?" Tom said in surprise.

"I have a back-up wand," Richard explained curtly. "It's my old one, from Roderick's in Knockturn Alley."

Both Gryffindors stared in surprise. "You have a Knockturn Alley wand?" Foster asked.

"_Why_ do you have a Knockturn Alley wand?" Tom cut to the more important – and less obvious – part.

_Gryffindors. Everything has to be so black-and-white, as though half of what was available in Knockturn Alley doesn't have purely academic uses. _"Originally, because Ollivander's won't sell you one until you get your Hogwarts letter and my parents didn't want me to wait that long; now, because between Gryffindor bullies and Slytherin ones a Ravenclaw needs all the protection he can get."

Tom might have been smart enough to let it go at that, but Foster wouldn't stop. "Knockturn Alley," the bully repeated. "You have a wand from Dark Arts Central. I always knew Ravenclaw and Slytherin were close, but I didn't know it ran that deep."

"Think what you like," answered Richard scornfully. "If you can call what happens in your head thinking. There's more to the school than your idiot fight, but I don't expect you to be smart enough to see it. A plague on both your houses." Both Gryffindors looked at him oddly, not getting it, and Richard reminded himself that they were, after all, Gryffindors. With a sigh and a dismissive wave of his hand, he turned and walked away.

* * *

"Hey Runt," Tom interrupted Richard's reading that evening in the library.

"Oaf," Richard answered, motioning his friend to take a seat.

"Thanks again for going along with my story earlier," the taller boy said, taking the chair.

"You're welcome."

Tom waited a moment for him to elaborate; Richard went back to his reading. Sighing, he pressed on, "Are you mad at me, Runt?"

"No," Richard said, putting his book down. "Just confused. Why bother helping Foster?"

"Mainly because Gryffindor has about five house points left as it is. A little bit because he and I just got our own fight worked out and I didn't want him getting in a feud with you instead."

"Why not? I couldn't care less if he wants to try it. He's a bully, an idiot, and a prat, and I wouldn't mind getting another shot at him." Richard was clearly still angry; normally he was neither violent nor dumb enough to deny it when he lost.

Shaking his head, Tom made one last effort at reasoning with him. "Runt, you don't want to fight him. Did you not notice when he broke your shield?"

"I'll have to learn a little more," the other boy admitted, "but I'll get him in the end. Gryffindor dumb luck runs out eventually, and intelligence doesn't." Tom shot him a slightly more than half-serious look at slur on his house. "No offense, Oaf," Richard said, dismissing the matter.

"I'll let it pass this time," Tom said. _ But only because your pride is bad enough as it is._

Some of the frustration must have shown, because Richard offered a rare compliment. "I didn't mean you. Whatever I may think of Gryffindors generally, you have enough loyalty and decency to be in Hufflepuff. If only you had a little more common sense and a better work ethic, you probably would be."

"When did common sense become a Hufflepuff quality?" Tom asked, somewhat confused.

"It didn't, lack of it is what makes you a Gryffindor, though you lot call it 'courage.'"

Gritting his teeth, Tom decided it was best to change the subject. _But when he's calmed down a bit, we are going to have a long talk on respecting my house._ "So how was the rest of your day?"

"Not bad," Richard answered, leaning back in his chair. "Stebbens and Lochrin were playing for a while in the common room – I don't know if I told you, they put together kind of a pick-up band in Ravenclaw, but these two were the only ones free this afternoon. I played a few games of chess – tied Stebbens twice more and beat Lochrin and Bradley. Since then I've mostly been working on homework." He indicated the book he'd been reading. "Just doing some research for a Potions essay. What've you been up to?"

"Eh, had Transfiguration after lunch. McGonogall was watching Foster – the younger one, that is – and me pretty closely. I think she suspects about the fight yesterday."

"The what?" asked Richard, sounding like he couldn't decide between disbelief and resignation.

Tom shrugged it off; Richard had been in his own fight today and had no room to talk. "Oh, during lunch the Fosters and I, well, worked out our differences. Prefect wound up having to get us some stuff from Pomfrey, and I think she got suspicious and told McGonogall."

Richard stared at him, apparently settling on disbelief. "You and two of your house mates skipped lunch in order to beat each other up?" he asked, sounding awfully surprised for someone who had only minutes ago been longing for a crack at Foster himself. Tom nodded. "By hand rather than magic, I suppose?" Tom nodded again. "And your prefect helped cover it up – don't tell me, to avoid losing house points." A third nod. Richard sighed, somewhat over-dramatically given how common fighting seemed to be at Hogwarts. "No offense, Oaf, but this isn't making me think any better of Gryffindor."

_We are definitely going to talk about that one day soon._ Standing, Tom waited until he was a few feet away to answer, "You know, Runt, you were the one just saying you wanted another chance at Foster. At least I'm letting it go." And turning the corner, he strode away with at least the satisfaction of getting the last word.

* * *

Richard's first class on Wednesday was Defense Against the Dark Arts, taken with Hufflepuff. Coming from the library where he'd been finishing Potions work, he was among the last to arrive; in fact, a quick glance showed everyone from Monday's charms class was present except for Korvil.

Professor Moody was truly frightening, his face marked with more scars than a wizard should ever have and one of his eyes a magical replacement, an electric blue orb that spun wildly, seeming to take in everything at once. "You'd be Davitt, then," he said when Richard arrived, his natural eye looking at a class list as the magical one lit briefly on Richard before continuing its spinning.

"Yes, sir," Davitt answered, sitting next to Lochrin.

"That's everyone, then. Let's get started."

Richard glanced around in confusion; Korvil was still absent, but he decided that if her house mates weren't going to say anything he wouldn't be the one to interrupt Moody. The professor began pacing along the front, starting from the Hufflepuff side and walking toward Ravenclaw; his spinning eye frequently vanished from Richard's view, turning to face the back of his skull. "In this class, you will learn the basics of how to defend yourself against dark wizards. I will teach you the spells, but I want you to understand that the best knowledge of magic is not sufficient defense if you do not pay attention. Dark wizards are not like dark creatures; they look no different from anyone else, so you never know when you will find yourself face to face with one – or worse, with your back to one. You must be prepared at all times." Spinning in place, he took a single long step to slam his palm on the desk of a Hufflepuff who had been staring out the window. "CONSTANT VIGILANCE!"

The entire class at least flinched, several people jumping in their seats; the Hufflepuff in front of Moody screamed, fell over backwards, and lay there without moving. "Now you see," Moody said in a surprising calm voice as the poor Hufflepuff's friends helped him back up, "if I had been a dark wizard I would have been able to hex half of you while you were gasping. I realize you're only eleven, but you're also wizards, and it's time you learned to act like it. You may not be able to beat an adult wizard yet, but I expect you to at least put up a fight." He paused, and his magical eye spun toward Richard. "Davitt, front and center."

Nervously, Richard went to the front.

"Your head of house tells me you already know the disarmament spell. Care to show it?" Moody held his wand out, pointed at Richard.

Richard drew his own wand, feeling more frightened than he ever had. Taking a deep breath, he pictured the moving image from _Forty Basic Defensive Charms_. Thrusting the wand at Moody, he cried,"_Expelliarmus!_"

Moody's wand twitched. Someone in the class snickered, but Richard was too mortified to notice who.

"That's unusual," the teacher noted calmly. "You've got the gesture and the incantation, but you need to put more feeling into it. _Expelliarmus!"_ Moody's own spell easily pulled the wand from Richard's hand.

"Everyone repeat that charm," Moody said, handing back Richard's wand and putting his own away. "_Expelliarmus!_" The class echoed it back, and the Professor nodded. "That'll do to start. Make sure you put the accent in the right place or you'll get some interesting effects. Now pair off and practice.

"You have the idea," Moody added as an aside to Richard. "Don't feel too bad, it just takes some wizards longer than others to grow into their magic."

They spent the rest of the period working on the disarmament spell while Moody corrected problems. Despite already knowing the method for it, Richard took longer than anyone else to make the spell work; he had to shout and thrust as though he were trying to stab someone before the spell had enough power to take Lochrin's wand.

At the end, after Moody gave them a reading assignment for the next class, Richard chased down the Hufflepuffs to catch an old acquaintance, Eleanor Branstone. "Hey, Eleanor," he called as she went to turn the corner.

She glanced back, slowing to let him catch up. "Hi. Good showing today."

"Thanks. Not bad yourself." Richard was fairly sure that was true, knowing Eleanor; the lie was a step farther back, in the implication that he'd been paying attention to anything other than his own struggle. At any rate, it was polite.

"Oh, Laura, this is Richard Davitt," Eleanor introduced him to another Hufflepuff she'd been walking with. "His mom runs Bagshott's Books in Hogsmeade and I used to run into him there all the time. Richard, this is my friend Laura Madley." Laura nodded, a touch shyly, and Richard returned it.

"So how's Ravenclaw?" Eleanor asked politely.

"It's great. Kind of surprised not to see you there." Eleanor's parents had gone through Hogwarts with Richard's and all four had been Ravenclaw; hence the Branstone's frequent stops at the bookstore. "I'm glad to see that you're at least neither Gryffindor nor Slytherin," he added.

"I think I'm quite happy with Hufflepuff, actually," Eleanor said, glancing at her house mates who were running off to make various quick stops before lunch. "Nicest people in the school."

"Glad to hear it," Richard said. "If you don't mind my asking, is Korvil alright?"

He thought Eleanor's eyes had flicked toward the Grassik girl's back, but he might have imagined it. "Why do you ask?"

_Curiosity, _while certainly the most honest answer, hardly seemed the best thing to say. He went for the other part of the truth. "I hadn't expected her to still be gone. I thought maybe if she's having a problem, I could help." And if he could find anything, he certainly would; the fact that his altruism was secondary to his need to know everything was largely incidental.

Gesturing for him to follow, she headed off in the opposite direction from the rest of the class. "I don't want to spread any rumors," she said firmly. "Hannah's had enough trouble as it is."

"Of course," he agreed, though if Eleanor had a problem with the more harmless sort of gossip it would have to be a new one. "I just was wondering if I might know anything that'd help."

Eleanor nodded, glancing around and making sure the three of them were now alone in a side corridor. "Well," she started, then paused, glancing at Laura, who nodded slightly. Wanting to help seemed to be an acceptable reason to want information. "We don't actually know what happened. She said there was something wrong with her wand, but none of it made any sense. She had a really bad seizure or-"

"It wasn't a seizure," Laura corrected.

"-or I don't know what," Eleanor agreed, "but Madame Pomfrey couldn't fix it. Professor Sprout said she's at-" Laura elbowed her. "She said it's unclear if she's coming back," Eleanor finished quickly.

That, Richard reflected, left a lot of possibilities. _One,_ he ran through it in his mind. _Something really is wrong with the wand. One-A, the wand is not matched – Stebben's theory. One-B, mages don't do well with wands. One-C, Hannah has some personal problem – an allergy to the wood or something. Two, Hannah has another problem and got confused. Two-A, she had a seizure and mistook it for a reaction to the wand. Two-B, she has some sort of psychological problem. Two-C, she's a drama queen trying for attention._

Two-C was unlikely – Drama queens, from what Richard could tell, did not generally wind up in Hufflepuff. Two-A, Two-B, and One-C could be handled by whoever was seeing to her – if Madame Pomfrey couldn't handle it, presumably either St. Mungo's or its Mage equivalent. One-A would probably have been caught, assuming Pomfrey considered the possibility. Still . . . "Do you know if she got the wand herself? I wouldn't think it's a hand-me-down or anything, with her being mage-born and all."

"She never said," Eleanor answered after a moment, apparently not wanting to say more than necessary. _If it were a problem with that particular wand,_ Richard thought, _it should've been a quick fix. Or even if there was some lasting harm, it won't be anything consistent enough for me to help._ Stebbens had said _anything_ could happen with mismatched wands. _I guess I'll look into it from the mage angle._

"Well, if I find anything that'd help I'll let you know." Eleanor smiled and thanked him, though her friend – Madley – looked like she was amused at the idea that an eleven-year-old would find something the staff didn't know. "In he meantime, if you see her tell her we're all hoping she feels better soon."


	6. Trouble

Disclaimer: Despite repeated attempts, I have yet to gain intellectual property rights for Harry Potter, Hogwarts School, or anything else invented by J.K. Rowling. So this is all still fanfiction; please enjoy, but do not send me any money or I'll have all kinds of legal trouble.

* * *

Unfortunately, Richard still had two more classes to get through that day, and neither one went particularly well. Herbology started out alright, until Professor Sprout left Richard working alone with a Slytherin named Malcolm Braddock. When Sprout was on the far side of the greenhouse helping someone else, Braddock pulled his wand out, waved it at Richard with a smirk, and whispered something Richard couldn't hear. 

Fortunately, the idiot had taken enough time smirking and waving his wand for Richard to draw his own and snap a perfectly audible "_Protego_!" Either Braddock was not up to Foster's level, or else saying the curse so softly had made it weaker; the shielding spell held, and it was the Slytherin who was curled up on the ground losing his lunch when Sprout arrived.

"Let me see your wands," she instructed, casting a priori incantatem as soon as she had them. When she saw the spells, Richard would have sworn that the professor repressed a smile before turning back to the Slytherin. "Well, Braddock, I suppose your current state will count as both partial punishment and a learning experience. Two points from Slytherin, and I'll be watching you the rest of the period."

Richard shook his head in disbelief as the teacher dragged Braddock after her, leaving him to work in blissful peace. One would think that a greenhouse full of magical plants would provide enough interesting things that even Slytherins didn't need to entertain themselves by hexing people. No such luck, apparently.

Half an hour later, in History of Magic, Richard found himself almost wishing for someone to throw hexes around, just to relieve the boredom. Quite aside from the fact that he already knew far more detail on the founding of the school than the ghostly Professor Binns was giving, the professor had a painfully monotone voice that made it all but impossible to focus. About ten minutes into the lecture, Richard noticed that Stebbens was working on the essay assigned from Herbology. Deciding he wasn't going to learn anything else in this class, he followed suit - by the time they left for dinner, he had finished all of his written work from the earlier classes.

After dinner, he headed back to his room to get started looking into mages and wizardry. A quick scan of the titles in the shared bookshelves showed nothing specifically about mages, so he grabbed the most likely looking things he could find, took them down to a couch in the common room, and began to search. The index of _Hogwarts, A History _showed no reference to mages, and Waffling's _Magical Theory_ had only the briefest comment in the introduction, explaining that this book would be focused on wand magic and that other books in the series included _Magical Theory for Mages_. _Great Wizards of the Twentieth Century_ and its companion _Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century_ were both likewise Wizard-focused (which, Richard had to admit, ought to have been foreseen from their titles); if there was a mage equivalent, the wizarding books did not mention it. _A History of Magic_ (written by Richard's great-aunt Bathilda) provided some interesting descriptions on the Mage-Wizard War (ended by their forced alliance during the Goblin Revolts), the eventual normalization of relations, and the subsequent maneuvering that left wizards with greater political power but mages continuing to look down on them socially. Idly, Richard wondered what the Mages had done when You-Know-Who was threatening the wizarding world (and suspected "not much," as they seemed generally to consider wizards a fairly trivial threat); at any rate, none of this history included any incident of a mage attempting to learn wizardry, or what might happen if one did.

When he went to put the books back on the shelves, he realized his roommates were already asleep - he had, as usual, completely lost track of time while reading.

* * *

Richard went to the library after Potions the next morning to continue his search. The _Encyclopedia Magica_ had several articles relating to mages, but nothing about how their magic interacted with wizardry. _A Guide to Medieval Sorcery_ and _Modern Magical History _both included commentary on mages, but neither mentioned anything relevant to Hannah's collapse. _Weird Wizarding Dilemmas and Their Solutions_ was, naturally, wizard-focused; alas, there did not seem to be a comparable book for mages. A quick search of _Common Magical Ailments and Afflictions _revealed only that Hannah's affliction was not common enough to be in it, which was hardly surprising. Richard did manage to find a copy of _Magical Theory for Mages_, and checked it out on his way to Charms class - this one would require closer study over the weekend. 

Charms was fairly subdued, Hannah's empty seat seeming to stick out more than it had in DADA. A remarkably quiet class reviewed the levitation spell until everyone could cast it, and then worked with larger or more complex objects, including balancing full cups without spilling water. Richard earned five points for Ravenclaw when he levitated the water by itself after Lochrin's glass tipped over.

"How did you do that?" the muggleborn asked as they left the class and headed to dinner.

"What, the water? Nothing to it, I'll show you."

This turned out to be rather more public than Richard intended, the entire group of first years insisting that he show them right in the great hall at dinner. Hoping that there was no rule against this, or that if there was no one would be paying attention, Richard picked up a glass of juice. "Ok, the first thing is that you have to see the juice as all one piece. If you let yourself look at it as a bunch of drops together, you'll wind up with your attention divided a million ways. Second thing is to cast the spell quick, before the juice lands. Get both of those, and it's just like levitating anything else. Like so," and with a flourish he dumped out the juice and flicked his wand. "_Leviosa!_" The juice congealed in a sphere. "Sometimes you don't have time for the full spell," he explained, floating the juice towards Lochrin. "Now you cast it. Remember, it's all one ball of juice, no different than lifting a glass." Lochrin repeated the spell, and Richard let his go. The juice floated in the air, hanging over Lochrin's plate.

"Pass it this way," called Bradley, pulling out his wand. Smiling, Richard poured himself another glass and ate. The ball of juice floated from one first year to another for about ten minutes as they ate and talked.

Perhaps it was inevitable that floating food would lead to trouble; eventually, the Slytherins at the next table noticed. "Sad, isn't it?" said Braddock, whose spell Richard had deflected the day before. "Wizards playing games with juice." He spoke loudly enough to make sure the Ravenclaws heard. "I guess there's some excuse for the mudblood - what more could he do? - but-" whatever else he was going to say was lost; Stebbens, holding the juice at the time, had lobbed it right into his face. Spluttering, the boy stood and stalked towards them - which was rather a bad idea when the Ravenvclaws all had wands out and _wingardium leviosa_ on the tip of their tongues.

By the time Braddock took his second step, the other Ravenclaws were flinging potatoes, soup, stuffing, jelly, butter, and more juice right into his face, and Richard took the moment while the Slytherin was blinded to carefully drop the small tomatoes from the salad right in front of him; on the third step, the bully went tumbling face down to the floor.

It had been only a matter of seconds, but somehow Snape was already there, appearing as if by apparation. "Are you alright, Braddock?" he asked brusquely as one of the other Slytherins helped the boy up.

"Fine, sir," Braddock answered.

"Good," Snape said, and turned on the Ravenclaws. "What in Merlin's name do you think you are doing?"

"Sir," said Lochrin, "he called me-"

"I am not interested in what anyone said, only in what you all did. I am not accustomed to seeing one of my students assaulted by a dozen others - and of Ravenclaw, at that - without any visible provocation. Wands, now."

Resigned to their doom, the Ravenclaws handed over their wands; needless to say, every one showed the levitation charm being used on food under _priori incantatem_, and even more needless to say, Snape was not interested in hearing that some of them had only been practicing floating juice (from the volume of food covering Braddock, Richard rather doubted any of them were innocent; still, it would have been nice if the professor at least considered the possibility).

"That is enough!" Snape cut off exactly that explanation from Orla Quirk. "Five points from Ravenclaw for each of you, and I will see you all for detention in the dungeons after dinner tomorrow." Jaws dropped all around, but none of them were stupid enough to risk worse by protesting - at least not while Snape was in front of them.

"Fifty house points," breathed Lochrin when he'd gone. "I think we're nearly as low as Gryffindor now."

A chorus of angry voices growled variations of, "We noticed." The rest of the table was giving the first years looks suggesting that only the loss of more house points was keeping the older students from hexing them into oblivion, and they all slid closer together in the face of their house mates' glares.

"This had better not happen again," said one of the prefects - Tragyl, maybe? - glaring down at them. "It's still early in the year, but Ravenclaw won't stand a chance at the House Cup if the lot of you do not improve your behavior. I'll be watching you.."

"But Snape-" Richard began, and stopped immediately at a glance from the prefect. "Yes, sir," he whispered, sinking into his seat.

"Snape is Tragyl's favorite teacher," explained a second year, _sotto voce_. "Blame it on him and it'll just get worse."

"Thanks," Richard whispered back.

"You want to thank me, shape up," the older boy answered, turning to glare at the first years. "The whole lot of you ought to be re-sorted for acting like a bunch of Gryffindors. For Merlin's sake, you can't start hexing people whenever they say something stupid." The boy's eyes flickered to Braddock for a moment, and some of the hostility seemed to transfer to the other table. "If nothing else, you'll run out of hexes trying to beat the ignorance out of that house."

* * *

"This way," Stebbens motioned to the other first years as they left the great hall. "Something tells me we don't want to go back to the common room just yet, and it's gorgeous outside." Nodding, the ten of them wandered out to the north, about halfway between the Quidditch pitch and the Forbidden Forest. "How's everyone doing on the DADA work?" Stebbens asked. Richard cringed; he had completely forgotten it in the much more interesting task of studying mages. Several other people had similar reactions: apparently they'd put the part of their homework that involved hexing each other at the bottom of the list. 

"Right," Stebbens continued, drawing her wand. "Let's get to it then."

Richard caught Lochrin's eye, and the two of them split off a little ways. "You try it first," Richard offered, drawing his wand.

"_Expelliarmus!_" Lochrin shouted, adding an unnecessary ricochet to his thrust, and Richard's wand flew off in the general direction of the rebound. Shaking his head sheepishly, Lochrin retrieved it and handed it back to Richard.

"Well cast," Richard congratulated him. "Just keep your wand pointed straight at me next time, and mine should fly right to your hand. Now, my turn. _EXPELLIARMUS!_" Richard had to shout a good deal louder than most of the others to make the spell work, but Lochrin's wand came right to him.

They kept practicing, Lochrin quickly getting the hang of the gesture and Richard learning exactly how much he had to put into it; the others seemed to be getting it as well, though several had problems of their own. Finn shouted loud enough to match Richard and sent Ackerly flying twice before he settled down, and Orla Quirk mispronounced the word once, somehow setting fire to Stebben's robe.

By the time the Ravenclaws headed back in, Richard was feeling quite exhausted from the repeated spell-casting. But he was also feeling at home in the group, a rather new sensation.

"Ok, Finn," Stebbens was saying. "Just try to remember: do that to Foster or Braddock, but not to the rest of _us_."

"So Orla," one of the other girls asked at the same time. "What's with the pyromania?" As the banter floated around him, Richard just smiled, soaking it in. Tom's family was like this, but they'd always seemed like a mob or a circus, with Richard being a spectator at best; Richard's own family only included three cousins, two of them far too young to be interesting.

"I don't care if we have detention all weekend," Finn declared as Richard's attention wandered back to the conversation around him. "It was worth it. Did you see the look on Braddock's face?"

"Classic," agreed Bradley. "I used to take all kinds of abuse from him at Newark's pre-wizarding."

"Ditto," said Finn. "Never again, though. We may still be nerds, but we're a _group_ of nerds now."

In the general chorus of agreement that met this, Stebbens added a cheerful, "All for one, and one for all!"

Richard and Lochrin grinned, while most of the others just seemed confused. Glancing around, Stebbens sighed, "You guys have _got_ to get out more."


End file.
